


Souda makes it better

by ultimatebellarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season 2, early Bellarke, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebellarke/pseuds/ultimatebellarke
Summary: Bellamy has been missing all day, leaving without a word to anyone. Clarke is not pleased when he returns. Based on the anon prompt: I’m rewatching the 100 and am really missing s1/s2 bellarke vibes :( can I request a post s1/s2 bellarke fic where the world didn’t end, and skaikru lives in peace with the other clans? Just some good old early bellarke dynamic and banter plz.Early Bellarke fluffy oneshot.





	Souda makes it better

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I did not try to intentionally include as many #tb the 100 references as I could ;)

The day starts with a flower on Clarke’s desk. Wide petals, bright and yellow, with specks of violet. The morning opens on such a high point, she’s not surprised when, in less than two hours, it takes a nosedive. 

Firstly, Bellamy is gone. According to every one she’s asked – and she’s tracked down everyone on camp – he has been missing since dawn. As are three others, the four comprising a makeshift, completely unauthorized hunting team. They’ve taken a radio, yet they have yet to respond to any one of Clarke’s hundreds of calls. _Of course_ they haven’t. Their leader, after all, is Bellamy Blake. 

Then there are the injuries. An explosion had occurred in the construction of the left wing of the encampment, leaving two dozen afflicted with wounds. Nothing fatal, thank God, but with Abby gone to consult for a high-profile patient of Trikru, Clarke is on her own to care for the barrage of victims. 

It’s dark by the time the she releases the last patient. Clarke sighs, resting her elbows on the now empty bed. Her neck is aching after this endless day. She reeks of blood and antiseptic and alcohol. She could fall asleep right here, and stay that way for a hundred years. 

“Hi.” 

Clarke whips around at the voice, her exhaustion replaced by adrenaline. Bellamy, freckles darkened after a day in the sun, is standing in the entrance with a soft smile on his face. 

Clarke crosses her arms. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? We have radios for a reason, Bellamy. And rules to follow when you decide to pick up and leave.” 

Bellamy blinks, the smile fading. He asks, “You through?” 

Clarke refrains from rolling her eyes, turning around so he can’t see the relief flooding through her. She maintains a resolute silence, peeling off her bloody gloves. 

“You look nice.” 

She turns back around. He’s looking at her, she realizes. More specifically, he’s looking at her hair. 

She touches a finger to the flower she’d fastened behind her ear. When she’d seen it this morning, she’d figured someone had left it behind and somehow it had gotten mixed up with her things. She’d put it behind her ear for safekeeping, more than anything else. It’s still soft, despite the scorching heat of the day. 

Bellamy is still looking at it. No, he’s looking at her. She thinks she sees a flickers of something in his eyes—anticipation? 

And then it hits her. “You got me the flower.” 

He lifts a shoulder. 

Her eyebrows rise, then narrow. “Why?” 

Now he looks confused. A moment passes. Then, his eyes widen. “You actually forgot.” 

Forgot what? Clarke racks through her head—her task list is near complete, and there are no crucial target dates anytime this week. The Council meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Preparation for winter is ongoing, yet the days are still warm— 

The realization materializes as a whisper. “It’s my birthday.” 

Bellamy just shakes his head. 

Oh, God. It’s her damn _birthday_ and she forgot. Then again, can she really be blamed? When there are a million other things to be done, each ten times more important than the last? 

“Nineteen,” she says. “Go me.” 

“Go you.” 

He is looking entirely too amused at her. She frowns. “It’s not a big deal.” The amusement doesn’t ebb, so she snaps, “I’m serious! A birthday is just…a reminder you’ve made it around the sun.” And honestly, Clarke no longer knows if that’s a feat to be celebrated. 

Bellamy is still smirking. “You’re just mad you forgot.” 

“It’s not exactly a priority to remember.” 

Bellamy looks at her, the smirk finally dropping. “I remembered,” he says. 

He remembered. Despite the task lists, target dates, the Council meetings, the endless list of duties carefully categorized by urgency, he remembered. The thought makes her stomach twist. “Thank you,” she remembers to say. 

He shrugs. “Have you had dinner?” 

Clarke hasn’t had much of any food today, but there is no use in letting him know that. She shakes her head. 

“Well, you can join the others for rations,” he says, “Or you can join the guy who traded with Grounders for _fleiva op skaiflaya_.” 

Clarke blinks. She thinks of the strongly seasoned small bird, roasted slowly over fire, and her mouth is already watering. “Please tell me that guy is you.” 

“Same guy who also traded for souda.” 

Clarke remembers the sweet alcoholic drink of the Grounders and she almost melts. “Are you trying to make me explode?” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “That’s the idea.”

Clarke is already reaching for his hunting bag when he pulls it out of his reach. “Patience, Princess. We’re not eating surrounded by blood.” 

And so she begrudgingly follows him outside of the Med Bay, towards a clearing a good distance away from the camp. Clarke tilts her head back to see the stars. So many, spilled like salt. Or – she looks at Bellamy, scouting out a log for sitting – like freckles across sun-tanned skin. 

They begin to devour the meat, stopping occasionally to sip at souda. It burns Clarke’s throat and eyes and eventually, the weight resting on her shoulders begins to lift. Soon they are no longer talking of plans or priorities, but of the six-legged moose Miller nearly got in a fight with. “Damn thing was almost as fast as the Rover,” Bellamy says. “And Miller had half a bottle of _souda_ , too. He tried fighting it instead of getting away. _Souda_ makes you do stupid things.” 

Clarke looks at his face – flushed with alcohol and softened by a smile – and she says, “I’m glad you made it out safe.” 

He blinks. Clarke knows he’s startled by the abrupt change of tone, but she doesn’t mind. “I—me too,” he says. “I, um—” He pulls off his hunting bag. “I got you something.” 

Clarke’s brows lift as he rummages in the bag. Then her heart stops. In Bellamy’s hands are a bundle of three paintbrushes. Even in the dark they glisten, their handles and bristles woven with intricate detail. 

She entirely blames the alcohol for her inability to form words. 

“Say something!” Bellamy laughs. 

Clarke shakes her head, her chest clenching with gratitude and happiness and just—things she doesn’t deserve to feel. Not after everything. “You didn’t have to, Bellamy. Really. How much did all this even cost—” 

“You can’t ask that about a gift.” 

Clarke keeps shaking her head. “You’re right. _Souda_ makes you do stupid things.” 

“I was not drunk when I bought it, Clarke.” 

Clarke gives him a wry smile, her heart still hammering. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“A smile,” he deadpans. Clarke sighs, but even she can’t help the quirking of her lips. He matches her grin. “So she _does_ remember how.” 

“Easy for you,” Clarke says, “You’ve had a whole bottle of _souda_.” 

“What difference does it make?” 

“It’s easier for you to be an idiot.” 

Bellamy scoffs. “Being an idiot how?” 

“For starters,” Clarke says, biting her lip, “You’re holding my hand.” 

His laughter falls away at the realization. That, in the dark, on top of the log, his hand is encompassing her own. 

In the silence, she almost hears his heart pound. Or maybe it’s her own. At last, he says, “Can you finish your bottle? Then we can both be idiots.” 

Clarke is grinning now. Yup. _Souda_ definitely makes it easier. “There’s no other way I’d spend my birthday.”


End file.
